In a Small Space (Part 1)

"Do you think it bad," SOS confided, "that one of the main motivations for wanting to invite people over to our house is to hear them say 'Woah, you guys do live in a tiny place.' Is that a problem?"

Ah yes, dear husband. I know what you mean. I've been thinking similarly. It could be pride. True. But I also feel as if we are on some sort of crusade to re-educate. When I say my house is small, I am not suffering from a false sense of modesty. Believe me.

A studio, 473 square feet. The only interior door is the one on the bathroom. Until a furniture purchase a few months ago covered a built-in, floor to ceiling mirror, it was possible to stand at the entrance and see the entire square footage, minus the bathroom. The HOA documents call our unit "Bachelor's Studio." The official website for the condominium complex doesn't even acknowledge the existence of these smaller units. The previous owner (and perhaps several more before him) was the kind of bachelor that gives single men the cringe-worthy stereotype. When we first looked at the vacated unit, there was a plate of butter in the cupboard, a half case of expired Coors Light on the porch, and piles of forgotten golf equipment in the closet. When we moved in six months later, the golf clubs were gone, the rancid butter and expired beer was not.

The kitchen before the sale went through. Notice the luxurious food prep area on the left (enough for a bottle of Tide and a Coors), and the 3/4 size stove on the right.

This is the kind of resident the studio was built for.  But Friends, Gentle Readers, this place has made a wonderful home for a young married couple with two kids.

The kitchen after we remodeled: the central area of a family home.

"They shouldn't buy a house with only two bedrooms," someone tells me of her newly married son. "When the babies come, where will they put them?"

I have nothing to say. Just blink. Blink.

I rarely ever wish for more space. (Doors, on the other hand… If I could invent a portable door that would block light and sound as well as safely contain children, I could live here indefinitely.)

I find myself in an interesting spot as the faddishness of the Tiny House Movement, minimalism, and simple living returns. The definition of a "Tiny House" is given at anything less than 1,000 feet, or sometimes, anything less than 300 square feet per person. Those within the movement talk about what a huge cost savings building a tiny house can net. And of course that's true in the everyday expenses of home ownership. A solar panel company tried to assure me of the cost benefits of going solar… until I mentioned our electricity bill rarely tops $30.

But in many other ways, tiny houses are not cheaper. And that is what motivates me on this crusade to re-educate. Since a family living in the Bachelor Pad goes against the HOA's Rules and Regulations (Shh. Don't tell anyone.), SOS and I looked into building a Tiny House not too far away. O.M.G. The building fees matched those for a mansion. No wonder developers don't like building more modest housing.

We don't even have to think as radical as building to wish for some changed perspectives on legitimatizing smaller housing. There are a number of really fantastic design ideas for furniture and room layout that could make a place of this size seem incredibly versatile. (For a fun time-waster, try searching for things like "small apartment design" or "tiny apartment transforms".) But unfortunately, until there is a greater demand for them, places like Target aren't going to try and duplicate the engineering for their Room Essentials collection. Which means only wealthy Manhattan execs can afford to maximize the space in their tiny apartment.

So, Gentle Readers, thus begins a series of posts to re-educate. Because bigger isn't always better.